


Wolf Kin

by WalkTheStarsWithMe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Banter, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Were-Creatures, Werewolf Sex, Werewolves, i can't smut sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3801682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WalkTheStarsWithMe/pseuds/WalkTheStarsWithMe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Breeder!Moriarty x Werewolf!lock</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wolf Kin

When the full moon rises there is a ringing in the air that calls the wolf kin to its light the way the scream of a dying rabbit pulls predators to its source. The shadow wolf heard that ringing now, that clear ringing like bellsong goading him to shrug off sleep and stand in his cage. He looked to the other wolf kin in the kennel and saw them still sleeping. A tincture of wolfsbane and lycanthropy suppressants had quelled their natural instincts, kept them sleeping -- or were they? The shadow wolf knew better. He looked to the little sandy-haired wolf and nodded. The sandy wolf nodded back.

The doorway of the kennel was saturated with moonlight, so bright and yet so far. The shadow wolf felt his skin crawl, his eyes twitch, the beast inside tearing to free itself. The ringing moon. The silver light. He reached out through the bars of his cage and yanked almost maniacally at the massive padlock, the lock clanging against the metal of his cage. For a moment the other wolves stirred, but then they stilled. The shadow wolf hooked his hand in the padlock and yanked down. The metal bent, groaned. The shadow wolf grunted, eyes blazing blue, and he slammed forward into the door of the cage, shoulder aching on impact. The footsteps of humans, guards, shuffled dangerously close. The wolf lunged again.

By the time the guards arrived the cage was empty.

~*~

The shadow wolf had broken loose. James Moriarty jumped out of bed, took his rifle and put on his leather hunting jacket as soon as the alarm went up, grabbing a box of silver bullets on his way out the door. The jacket rattled, the inside pockets filled with syringes brimming with wolfsbane. His blood coursed through his body the way alcohol courses down a man’s throat -- cool burning, metallic taste. He went, running now, running down the field to the kennel where the cage of the shadow wolf had been torn open while the rest of the pack slept soundly. The guards were all dead, throats bitten, chests slashed open, entrails scattered about. James inhaled the stench of dead man’s blood and a chill passed down his spine.

The hunt was on.

A low note poured through the air, a howl, that rose and bloomed up until it echoed high into the night sky. The moon was like a bright hole in the darkness. James’ dark-whiskey eyes lit up and he loaded his rifle, savouring the sound of silver bullets moving into place. _The only truly fair game are humans and werewolves,_ he thought. _Both have the intelligence and wit to actually put up a fight, unlike deer and ducks and moose and mice. Here is a hunt worth having._

The wind rose. The shadow wolf’s howling came again, louder now. James headed in its direction at a steady trot, keeping his rifle up, keeping a finger half-curled around the trigger, half a dozen bullets loaded. The wolf’s keening doubled back, lowering in pitch and then lifting up like a hallelujah praising the moon. The Irishman kept moving, walked down the fields until he accidentally kicked something and it jingled.

James looked down and saw the wolf’s collar.

James looked up and saw the wolf himself.

Up on a high ridge the shadow wolf stood. His hackles were bristling and his curly ruff was gilded in moonlight, the blaze of white on his muzzle dazzlingly bright as he pointed his nose at the swollen moon. James took a step back to get a better view. A twig cracked under his boot.

The shadow wolf turned, blue eyes flashing like flame and burning into James’s own. James met the wolf’s gaze and felt the wolf’s anger, the wolf’s hunger, the thirst for blood, the urge to kill.

He raised his rifle. The wind rose higher until it, too, howled.

The wolf leaped.

Like a lightning strike the wolf fell, slamming James to the ground. James cried out, shouted. Raised his rifle like a shield and used it to hold back the wolf’s fangs, dangerous fangs. Only one bite. Or one shot. One of them would die.

James pulled his legs in and kicked the wolf, hard as he could. The wolf flew back a few feet but landed on his paws. As soon as James was up the wolf was rushing him again, jumping away just as James raised the rifle again.

Half of James mourned for what would have been a good profit, for the shadow wolf would have made good stock. Purebred werewolves are hard to come by -- most of them now are turned wolves, not blood-born wolf kin. The other half wanted to keep hunting. Play the endgame. Kill the wolf.

The wolf’s jaws parted like two vices and a guttural roar split the air, hackles bristling, one and a half times taller than James. He came like a storm, spitting thunder, too quick for James to raise his rifle and fire. He crashed into the hunter, knocking the rifle from James’ hands and clawing at his chest, ripping through fabric until his claws met flesh.

James cried out and tried to aim a punch at the wolf’s eye. The wolf drew back. He reached in his jacket, pulled a syringe from it, and stabbed it into the wolf’s neck in one swift motion. The wolf roared and leaped away but the lycanthropy suppressant worked quickly, even though only half had been injected. As he bounded to and fro in the distance in a mad dance the wolf began to revert, fur shedding, bones shifting, body shrinking. The rifle lay on the grass, and James jumped for it, but the wolf half-transformed pounced as well, trying to tear the hunter’s jacket with dulling claws, sending loaded syringes rolling in the grass.

The breath was knocked from James, the impact making him feel as if his limbs were jammed up into his spine. The wolf growled again, but it was a shallower growl. A growl from only a half-lupine throat.

James dared to look up. The wolf loomed over him, almost human again, except for his canine ears and legs. Even in their human forms this subspecies of werewolf is quite animalistic. The wildness shone in the wolf’s pale blue eyes and he shoved the hunter’s face to the dirt.

“James Moriarty.” The wolf’s breath was hot against James’ ear, and James tensed. He’d heard the wolf use this tone of voice before, how the way he spoke carried more weight than _what_ he spoke. The hunter’s eyes slid up to rest on the sight of the shadow wolf, and the enormous silver disc of the moon. They were well away from the house by now, in the more woodsy area of James’ property, secluded. The sprawling shadow of the cliff helped conceal the two as well.

“Sherlock,” the hunter breathed.

“The guards won’t come for us. I called for my brother’s pack to come distract them while the kennel wolves slip away.”

“Oh...” Moriarty made a low keening sound as Sherlock’s tongue trailed over the edge of his ear.

“We’ll be all alone. Together. Just like last night.” Sherlock’s teeth raked delicately over the hunter’s earlobe. Then he gave James a disappointed look. “You’ve taken a wolfsbane tincture, haven’t you?”

“Only enough to keep from changing.” As if on cue, a crawling sensation like a thousand spiders swept over James. “Nobody knows you bit me,” he protested, the words slightly stunted as Sherlock let up to roll him onto his back. He gasped softly, his chest stinging from his wounds. “Can’t let them -- know--”

Sherlock had peeled off James’ jacket and had begun lapping the blood from his wounds. “Can’t let anybody else come under the impression that you’re in an interspecies relationship either, can you?” He planted a kiss on James’ chest. The hunter moaned softly. The claw marks on his chest weren’t deep, only shallow nicks, but they still hurt nonetheless. The cool night air soothed him some.

Sherlock wiped the blood from his lips and touched his nose to James’. James could smell his own blood on Sherlock’s mouth and his breath quickened. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock kissed him quietly, let him taste his own blood, the sweetly sour tang of it. The lycanthropy suppressants could stop the changing, but it couldn’t stop the fact that they were still untameable, instinct synced to instinct synced to desire. James’ tongue prodded Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock let James’ tongue explore his mouth. When they pulled away for air Sherlock bent low and bit James’ neck, leaving a bright red mark blooming on top of the original bite that changed James from human to wolf kin.

“Next full moon, I’ll make you change. No more suppressants,” Sherlock said in a low voice. “Once you’ve gone through your first change you’ll be just like me -- wolf-legged, truly wild.”

“And I wasn’t already, last night?” James smirked, and they had another lewd, tongue-tangling kiss.

“I suppose you were a complete animal then,” answered Sherlock.

“You might as well be part feline, with all the catty things you say.” James gasped as Sherlock’s tongue probed his chest again. “You’ve got the bloated ego of one, that’s for sure.”

“Please,” Sherlock snorted. “It’s because I know I’m the only one allowed to do this to you.” His hands slid underneath James’ trousers, cupping his arse.

James bit his lip, gazing up at Sherlock with clouded, half-open eyes. Off in the distance a chorus of wolf calls rose, but he ignored it, instead choosing to kiss Sherlock again, letting the shadow wolf tug his trousers off of him. Yes, Sherlock -- only Sherlock -- could do this. Dominate James. While the wolves of James Moriarty’s kennel broke free and scattered back into the woods, the hunter himself and his prize stock were locked together, kissing hard, a tangle of limbs.

It felt strange, and yet so intimate, the way Sherlock took control so easily, as if he were born for it. He would make a good pack leader if it weren’t for his aloof, unsociable demeanour. Yet it made James feel as if he were special, the fact that Sherlock’s coldness melted away at his touch.

~*~

“Sherlock?”

“Hm?”

“I feel like -- ah, damn! -- I’m dreaming.”

“...So do I.”

“Or maybe -- unh! -- we’re the ones who aren’t real.”

“Haven’t you ever been in a -- fairytale before?”

“Not one quite as steamy as this, oh--!”

“I--I love you.”

“And I -- you.”

~*~

Once they were finished and they’d cleaned themselves up, Sherlock stepped out of the cliff’s shadow and into the moonlight. James followed, with only his hunting jacket on now, and the moonlight on his skin felt like silver water to his wolf kin flesh.

As they began heading back towards the house, they transformed. James didn’t notice at first, but then suddenly he was too hairy, his arms elongating and legs shortening to be the same length each. His face protruded to become a long, narrow muzzle, short black fur spreading over his lanky body. A white patch of fur blazed down his chest, and his tail was tipped with light silvery hairs. It felt like a slow burning, how his internal organs shifted to accommodate his narrowed chest and sleeker form, the way his knees cracked as they reversed to bend the other way, and James yelped in alarm.

Sherlock, half-transformed, turned to James and pulled the leather jacket off of him just before the hunter grew large enough to tear the coat apart. Soon they were two wolves and a bloodstained hunting jacket basking in the moon’s glow.

 _Run with me!_ Sherlock bayed, paws thudding against the ground, tail flying.

James watched Sherlock take off, bounding up a hill and stopping right at the crest to look back at him. The shadow wolf cocked his head as if to ask, _Aren’t you coming with me?_

James considered this for a moment. To leave his house, his job, and go to the wolves? The major change loomed before him like a vulture waiting to feast on his corpse. The little wolf hesitated. Then he heard the ringing moon. The song of changings drifted down with the moonlight.

Sherlock was going to leave. And travel with the pack of escapees. And go far, far away, north to the wilderness.

Then the chorus began. James dashed up to the hill until he was side by side with Sherlock. Over the hill, down on the other side, the rest of the kennel wolves were gathered, shaking off the lycanthropy suppressants as they transformed. They were calling now, calling to unite the pack, and the song wove in with the harmony of the moon and James gave in and tipped his head back to howl. Sherlock joined in a second later, his rich voice strong as starlight and sweeter than sugar. The litany of unity segued to silence. The wolves turned to leave, to begin their expedition.

Sherlock and James loped down the rise, and took their places at the lead.

**Author's Note:**

> Tbh I didn't really stick to the whole breeder thing xD  
> It's still kinda suggested but ehh
> 
>  
> 
> **\--Alder, a.k.a. WalkTheStarsWithMe**


End file.
